


One More Time

by abo_trash



Series: Better Than Before [1]
Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/F, F/M, Hospitals, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Mild Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 11:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11966877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abo_trash/pseuds/abo_trash
Summary: It's a hospital room, she finds as she slowly looks through her surroundings, and the beeping, it turns out, is the heart monitor next to her bed, displaying the beat of her heart. It's steady and calm, and she's amazed with herself for being so calm. She's almost proud, even. The pride disappears when she goes to sit up though, and the world swims. Her head is fuzzy and spots of black dance in the corners of her eyes, and for a moment, she even forgets her own name. As she looks around her room once more and notes the balloon, flowers, and get well cards, it comes rushing back to her.Her name is Heather Chandler. And she has no clue why she's in the hospital.--happy september 1st!!!!





	One More Time

**Author's Note:**

> wooot another series, and another one im super committed to!! while im taking my break from trial run, im gonna work on this one a bit, so hope you guys enjoy!

She wakes, not to the sound of her alarm, her mother's voice insisting she gets up, or Heather telling her it's time for school, but instead to slow and steady repeating beeps. It's enough to draw her from the dream world, from the sleep she's found herself in. Her eyes crack open, though not all the way. The light is too bright, stings too much, and she can only bring herself to squint as she stares at the ceiling above her. It isn't her ceiling, she notes. It's white and cold like hers, but it doesn't have the same texture, and that, coupled with the beeping still droning on, is enough to make her look around; though, she only turns her head, not quite having the will to sit up.

It's a hospital room, she finds as she slowly looks through her surroundings, and the beeping, it turns out, is the heart monitor next to her bed, displaying the beat of her heart. It's steady and calm, and she's amazed with herself for  _ being  _ so calm. She's almost proud, even. The pride disappears when she goes to sit up though, and the world swims. Her head is fuzzy and spots of black dance in the corners of her eyes, and for a moment, she even forgets her own name. As she looks around her room once more and notes the balloon, flowers, and get well cards, it comes rushing back to her.

Her name is Heather Chandler. And she has no clue why she's in the hospital.

Panic overcomes her then, as she desperately tries to remember why she's here. As she tries to remember anything. At first, all she can remember is the party. She remembers the alcohol, remembers hands all over her, remembers fighting with Veronica, and remembers driving home, alone. She can even remember how much that had stung, how hurt she had been, and the hurt, mixed with the alcohol buzzing in her system, had made it easy. She had fallen into bed after barely managing to strip from her clothes, had curled around her pillows, and had wished the world away. She had slept soundly, until…

A strangled noise escapes her as she remembers Veronica. Veronica and  _ him. _ She remembers the cup of blue, too dark to be what they say it is, that she had swallowed a mouthful of, before it had started to burn. It had hurt, like nothing ever had before, and underneath the burning, the feeling of her skin being eaten away, she had felt the dark burn of betrayal, even as she had met Veronica's eye as she fell, gagging and choking. There had been something in her eyes- remorse, maybe- and it was only when Veronica had grabbed her and stuck her fingers down her throat, scratching the back of it with her nails, was she even sure she saw anything had all. She hadn't felt the scratch through all of the burning of course, and only knew because of the bitter taste of blood on the back of her tongue. It only lasted a moment though, before her gag reflex kicked in, and the burning came back.

Throwing it up had been worse than swallowing it down. It had burned more, more of her throat exposed to the corrosive substance, new nerves being subjected to the pain. Instead of the same blue she had taken a swig of, it had come up black, a mixture of blood and something else, something inside her that was never supposed to see the light of day.

After that, either the pain had been too much, or her mind tried to block out more of the traumatic experience, because she can't remember anything else. All she knows, really, is that Veronica's new boy toy had tried to kill her, and Veronica had  _ let _ him try. The bitter sting of betrayal hurts anew, bringing tears to her eyes, and the only thing that stops her from crying right then and there is the sight the sight of Heather McNamara, curled into one of the nearby chairs. Her head is resting on her arms, and she almost looks… Pitiful. It makes her stomach twist in a way she isn’t used to, but it keeps her from crying and that’s all she can ask for. Like hell would she let Heather McNamara, of all people, see her cry. She’d turn around and spread it to the whole school, Heather knows it, and she finds herself glaring at her slumped form.

“Wake up, fuck face,” she tries to say as she grabs her pillow out from behind her, ready to throw it, but the words come out more like a dying croak- like something she once heard Kurt’s old beat up pickup make when he promised to take her to the football game before she got her license, just so she could watch Heather McNamara cheer and be there to support her because no one else was going to be- and her throat hurts. It feels like she’s opened something back up, and she waits for the flow of blood to start again. She’s surprised when it doesn’t, and is only distracted from her momentary pain when Heather McNamara stretches out in her seat.

“Her parents said I could stay instead,” Heather McNamara whines weakly, her eyes still closed, and Heather’s brows furrow. What the hell is that supposed to mean? She doesn’t try to think it over too much, instead tossing her pillow at Heather McNamara’s head. There’s a startled noise when it hits, and she can’t help but grin, enjoying the almost adorable way her head swivels around. Then, their eyes meet, and it’s like there’s a sudden spark that jolts Heather to life. She’s quick to sit up, her eyes bright- if a little sleepy- and she’s grinning a stupid smile that she wants to smack off. “Oh, Heather! You’re awake!” 

Heather can hear the heart monitor’s incessant beeping getting faster, not expecting the sudden yelling, and she scowls at the other Heather. So much for staying calm, she thinks, before Heather McNamara takes her place at her side. For a few moments, it’s almost nice. Heather takes time to smooth out her hair for her, cooing at how messy it is and promising to bring her a brush and her favourite makeup, and her  _ scrunchie _ , and she can’t really help it. She closes her eyes. 

It’s nice, to have someone care about her. To know she isn’t just alone in the world. Even if it is Heather McNamara, and even if it is only so she can go and brag to the school later about how she took care of her ‘best friend’ when no one else would. They’ve played this game before, and she’s sure they’ll play it again, but for the moment, she can revel in pretending someone actually cares. However, the feeling comes crashing down on her in moments, when Heather McNamara pauses and looks to her throat. She raises a hand to it and brushes her fingers across the gauze she’s staring at, and it makes her stomach ache. She wonders what’s under it, but doesn’t have the chance to look, or think too much about what her neck looks like right then. 

“Heather... If I had known you were suicidal, I would have been there for you… We could have talked it out, and you wouldn’t have had to do this... Why didn’t you say anything?” Heather McNamara whimpers as she reaches out to touch her neck, and as much as she wants to enjoy the positive attention, she draws the line at being accused of being suicidal.

“I’m not suicidal,” she tries to grumble, swatting Heather McNamara’s hand away, but it’s no better than her earlier attempt at speaking. If anything, it’s worse- sounding like a noise she heard a cat make when Heather Duke got too close to it’s kittens- and she’s almost certain that this time, she’ll have drawn blood. But nothing comes, just like last time, and she has to wonder if something will if she keeps it up.

“Heather, don’t try talking, please,” Heather McNamara cries, pity in her voice, and she tries to groan, because she hates the entire situation, and hates her pity. Her groan, however, comes out closer to a wheeze, and Heather McNamara looks that much sadder. She doesn’t know where Heather McNamara got the idea that she was suicidal, though she figures it has something to do with Veronica and her  _ boy toy _ , and hates seeing Heather McNamara fake-pity her. She would prefer to see her gossiping about what she saw the freshmen doing, or what she caught Heather Duke throwing up, instead of this fake-pity they both know isn’t real.

She finds, as she glares at Heather McNamara’s stupidly pathetic and pitiful expression, she hates everything right then, really. She has a million questions, and can’t ask any of them. Damn Veronica. Damn her straight to hell. Damn her for making her the centre of pity. Damn her for making her drink  _ whatever the fuck _ it was, and damn her for getting involved with that freak. 

“I got you something, to help I hope,” Heather McNamara coos when she gets tired of her glare, finally stepping away from her bedside, and she turns to glare at her pillow on the floor instead. Maybe if she stares at it enough, Heather will get it for her. She wouldn’t ask for it, even if she could talk, and she knows Heather McNamara knows it too, but she still hates not being able to talk. She hates this, hates not being able to shoot quips at Heather McNamara about her not actually caring, and doesn’t like being forced to sit on her bed and watch her,, a million questions at her lips, but unable to ask any of them. 

For a moment, that’s all she can do though. She has to watch Heather McNamara go back to her chair, and she notices her bag sitting on the floor. Heather McNamara takes a moment to dig through it and she glares at her back the entire time, until, finally, she turns back around, holding a pitiful notebook, with a red pen clipped to the front. She’s grateful they’re both red, at least, but doesn't say so, instead staring at Heather McNamara and waiting. It takes a moment, as Heather McNamara hesitates, and their eyes meet, before she grabs the pillow off the ground and brings both to her.

“Here. I um… I thought maybe that… That this would help you, since you’re not supposed to talk, and all…” Heather McNamara trails off, and she glares at her as she holds out the notebook and pillow.Then, there’s silence. It’s thick and choking, makes her throat hurt more just trying to swallow it down. She decides, as she stares up at her and Heather McNamara stares down at her, that she has no reason to spurn her gift. She has questions, and that’s probably the only way she’s going to get them. So, reluctantly, and a little annoyed, she takes the pillow and notebook. She props it up on her lap, glaring at the cover, and Heather McNamara clears her throat. “If you don’t want to try talking… I can go…”

She shakes her head, letting out an almost annoyed sigh that sounds more terrible than any other sound she’s made, and  closes her eyes. She wants answers, and she knows that it is going to be the only way she can get them. She opens the cover and grabs the pen, just as Heather McNamara pulls her chair over. If she really wants answers, and if Heather is going to give them to her, then she’s going to take it while she has it, because she isn’t sure when she’ll get another one.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr at abotrash.tumblr.com if you're interested in talking more to me, seeing what im working on, sending asks, or getting updates for when i post!


End file.
